


Hell and You

by LordeMidnight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Adopted Cousins, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Age Difference, Eventual Smut, F/M, Martial Arts, Mistaken Identity, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22151851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordeMidnight/pseuds/LordeMidnight
Summary: Rey loves her adoptive father, Luke. They've been inseparable ever since he found her at 13 years old, shivering on the streets of Phoenix, abused by her foster parent. He's more of a teacher than anything else, opening her world to the beauty of nature and giving her a loving home. She especially loves her brand new Aunt Leia and Uncle Han.Ben Solo on the other hand... she's only ever heard the horror stories and seen grainy home videos from years ago when Luke trained him in martial arts. His mysterious persona intrigues her, and his beautiful form enthralls her.So when she meets Kylo Ren at a local training gym, she thinks nothing of it. Aside from the fact that he makes an excellent sparring partner and a rather frustrating conversationalist, Kylo Ren is nothing more than a stranger.Until he's not.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 18
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from "Hell and You" by Amigo the Devil.

Phoenix gets cold in the winter. Especially at night. And Rey is but skin and bones, clad in only a crummy, stained t-shirt and oversized shorts. Her lips are blue and shaking, and her limbs seem to vibrate on their own accord. She shivers even more violently when she kneels next to a dumpster and her exposed skin comes into contact with the cold, wet pavement. It had only just stopped raining, and her hair is stuck to her forehead and neck in strings. As she settles into the ground, she hisses when her elbow collides with the brick wall behind her. She inspects her joint and finds that it’s blossomed in blue and purple.

Plutt.

Memories flood her mind of him twisting her arm behind her back, throwing her into the wall, smacking her left and right.

Rey squeezes her eyes tight, trying to shake the unbidden images from her mind.

“Stop!” she hears herself yell. Her eyes whip open at her unexpected outburst, and her heart drops when she sees a hooded figure standing before her.

 _Plutt found her_.

She gasps and tries to scuffle her way in between the dumpster and wall, but the confines are too tight—odd, since she has a knack for fitting herself into the smallest of spaces.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the man rushes to explain, pushing his hood back to reveal a weary face, stressed with wrinkles and a smattering of grey hair along his jaw.

Not Plutt after all.

Not-Plutt crouches down, hands splayed in front of him in a stance that’s meant to seem comforting, but Rey sees it as a threat still.

She matches his body language, crouched at the ready, hands balled into fists. “Don’t you dare come closer to me,” she growls.

Not-Plutt shakes his head as a car drives by on the street adjacent to them. The headlights illuminate his face, and she glimpses into his deep-set blue eyes.

Kind eyes.

Caring eyes.

Nothing like Plutt’s, whose are beady and black and violent.

Rey relaxes her stance, but only slightly. Not-Plutt, to his credit, seems to pick up on her subtle shift and reaches into his coat pocket. Rey tenses again, and he slows in his movements before pulling out a granola bar.

Her stomach audibly rumbles.

He tosses the granola bar across the space between them, and Rey is hopeless but to dive for it, ripping the wrapper to shreds before downing the food in two swallows. Not-Plutt continues to watch her, his brow pinched in concern.

“Who are you?” spits Rey when she’s mostly finished, crumbs spewing out in front of her.

“My name’s Luke,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“None of your business.”

“It’s nice to meet you, None of Your Business.”

Rey huffs out a humorless laugh.

“Can I ask where your parents are, None of Your Business?”

“Don’t have any,” says Rey.

“Where are you from?”

“The accent isn’t a tell for you?”

“Just curious as to why a young, starving British girl is roaming the streets of Arizona.”

Rey doesn’t grace him with an answer. She simply levels him with a glare and wraps her arms around her shins, pulling her legs close into her chest. Her stomach rumbles again.

“Are you hungry?"

“No,” she lies.

“There’s an awesome diner right around the corner from here,” says Luke, gesturing vaguely to the end of the alleyway. “If you want, I can buy you some eggs and toast.”

Rey stares at him.

“And maybe bacon?”

Rey curses herself when she involuntarily perks up at the mention of bacon.

***

The vinyl of the seat cracks beneath her as Rey nervously sits across from this old man, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The diner is deserted save for some drunks swaying at the bar and slumping over cups of coffee probably spiked with their own supply. The clock ticking on the wall indicates that it’s just past midnight, but Rey has never felt more alert.

“So, None of Your Business,” says Luke once they’ve settled into the booth, “what’re you doing out past your bedtime?”

Rey shrugs, “Habit.”

“And what—"

The waitress decides to take that moment to make an appearance, swooping in with a pitcher of water and saving Rey from Luke’s incessant questioning. “Hey Luke!” the young girl chirps as she pours ice water into Rey’s cup. “Long time, no see. Who’s this angel you have with you tonight?”

“This is None of Your—”

Rey cuts Luke off, cheeks flaming, “Rey. My name is Rey.”

“Hi Rey,” the girl stretches her lips wide into a smile, revealing a gap between her front two teeth. “Can I get you anything to drink besides water?” Luke orders a coffee, and Rey sticks to her water for now.

Once the girl has pranced across the restaurant to fill a mug for Luke, Rey blushes under Luke’s grin as he says, “So it’s Rey, huh?”

***

Ten minutes later, Rey is wolfing down the plate before her. The yolk from her over-easy eggs is running down her chin, so she uses a piece of her toast to sop up the mess before popping that into her mouth as well. Luke simply watches in amusement over his untouched hashbrowns as she swipes her finger through the crumbs of biscuits, butter, and hot sauce and sucking the taste from her hand. Her plate is clean in record time, but it still feels like her stomach is empty. She glances curiously at Luke’s plate, and he doesn’t hesitate before sliding it over to her. She douses the potatoes in hot sauce before shoveling them down her throat as well. By the time she’s finished, her stomach is protruding against her sharp hip bones.

Rey collapses into the booth. “I feel like I could give birth,” she groans.

Luke chuckles. “So Rey,” he says, “since I bought you dinner, I think you owe me.”

Rey’s back goes ramrod straight, and she stares at him with wide eyes. She’s heard words like those before. Usually, it’s from one of Plutt’s poker buddies after they’ve tossed her some greasy take-out food. Her eyes dart to the public restroom, already planning her escape: _out through the window, then down the street as far as her legs can take her_. She’s thinking of how she can extract herself from the booth when Luke surprises her again.

“Answer me a question: what were you doing out on the streets tonight?” Luke’s voice is gentle.

Rey deflates. He’s a nice man, she decides. The entire meal, he’d asked her about her interests and hobbies, to which she had given half-assed answers through a mouthful of bacon and sausage: _I like cars; space is kinda cool too, I guess; don’t have friends; not much of a reader; I like to run._ She considers him for a moment, gnawing on her lower lip. “My foster parent… he… I don’t like him very much.” She casts her gaze downwards as she fiddles with the hem of her shirt.

“Did he hurt you?” Luke’s eyes are assessing her, and Rey sees the moment his eyes zone in on the bruises around her collarbone and neck. The week-old cut on her forearm. The scrape that’s barely hidden by her hairline.

Rey swallows, “I deserved it.”

“No, you did not.”

Rey rolls her eyes, “What about you? What’s an old man like you doing wandering the streets like an alley cat?”

“I just finished backpacking Grand Canyon National Park. I’m staying here for a couple of nights before heading home.”

“No wonder you look so homeless.”

Luke laughs, “You’re one to talk.”

“Where’s home for you?”

Luke hesitates. “Normally… I’d say Washington D.C. Although I’m not sure I’m welcome there anymore.”

“Who’d you piss off?”

Luke is amused by her language, “How old are you?”

“Thirteen. Almost fourteen.”

“Ah.”

A short silence. Rey considers pushing him for an answer—she idly wonders if he cheated on his girlfriend or something equally as horrific—but instead changes tactics. “Where are you going from here then?”

He mulls over her question. “I’m not sure. I like the outdoors. It brings me peace. I’m thinking… Oregon? Maybe Northern California? I’m not sure I could deal with the rain in Washington. Too depressing.”

Rey takes it in, nodding. Before, his eyes had shown kindness and understanding. Now, there is a slight haunting to them. He’s weary. Tired… Regretful.

“So, you’re alone then?” she asks. “Like me?”

He nods, and his eyes shift again. More inquisitive now.

She perches her elbows against the table, forgetting about her most recent injury. She cries out when her elbow makes contact with the linoleum, and Luke is immediately on his feet, rounding the table to inspect her arm. She tries to snatch it out of his grasp, but his hands are surprisingly strong, and he holds her steadfast.

“Rey…” his voice is full of concern. Rey surrenders herself when he guides her to her feet. He crouches before her so that he’s just below eye level with her. “We should go to the hospital. Get this checked out.”

“No!” Rey exclaims, tears flooding her eyes. “If we go, then they’ll call _them_ and he’ll be notified and I don’t want to go back there, Luke, I don’t want to—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” his arms wrap around her and she finds herself sobbing into his shoulder. “They won’t take you back there, okay? I’ll protect you, Rey.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

***

It seems Luke knows some important people in some high places. Rey never sees Plutt’s pimpled and plump face ever again. Instead, she’s delegated to a random home for a week or two. Luke accompanies the CPS worker as she’s dropped, promising her that he just needs to find somewhere permanent for the two to stay.

Rey ignores him.

She’s been promised shit her entire life.

But when he returns just two weeks later, beard trimmed and clothes looking sharp, she can’t help but be overjoyed. She’s practically bouncing off the walls when she sees him walking up the sidewalk to the house and hears that gentle timber as he asks her caretaker if she’s home. She bounds down the stairs and throws herself into Luke arms. He gently chides her for not trusting him.

From then on, they’re inseparable.

Santa Rosa, California is indeed beautiful. It’s a welcome change from the rainy streets of London or the dry heat of Arizona. She’s constantly surrounded by an oasis of blue or green, and the weather is always perfect. Luke takes full advantage of it, bringing her on frequent “expeditions” into nature—he is an outdoorsman, after-all. A microbiologist, in fact. He shares his wildlife knowledge of the plants and animals indigenous to the parks that surround their new home. Rey loves the freedom of it all, especially when they stand atop a mountainous peak and have free range to gaze over the rolling hills or ocean before them. She feels like a Queen, reigning over her land.

On their various hikes, Rey learns about his early life—when he would spend his days protesting against injustice and “socially experimenting” in the 70s. She knows he has a sister: Leia Organa, the feminist icon she’s heard about in school at times. According to Luke, she’d love Leia, but not nearly as much as Han, her husband, who shares Rey’s affinity for mechanics and cars. Rey is constantly taking apart various appliances throughout the house. So much so that Luke brings junk he finds on the street around for her, encouraging her to spend her endless energy dissecting and upgrading what she deems to be fixable. Luke sells the items through Craigslist and deposits the money into her account which will be available to her when she’s eighteen—the only condition being that Rey enrolls in college.

While Luke picks up a gig at the local University, Rey enrolls in high school, which takes off to a rocky start. She’s lucky she’s entering in her freshman year, so people didn’t stare as much as they normally do whenever she’s dropped into a foreign learning environment. But when she opens her mouth to call “ _here!_ ” during roll call, heads swivel and stare openly at her accent. It quickly spreads throughout the school that she’s descended from British royalty—great-granddaughter of the late King Kenobi. She hears the whispers haunting her through the cafeteria before she sits in the corner, picking at her all-organic, non-GMO school ordained lunch and trying to ignore the stares pointed her way.

Her trance is interrupted by some kid plopping down in front of her, sticking out his hand and introducing himself as Finn. He makes some cheeky comment and addresses her as “Your Majesty.” It’s just dorky enough to win Rey over.

They’re attached to the hip from that point forward. Rey shows him her strange inventions, and Finn takes an interest as well, so they start a Robotics Club together.

Luke likes Finn well enough. He gives a secretive smile when Finn mentions he’s on the wrestling team, and when Rey prods Luke about it, he brings out old pictures of him wearing a black belt and foot sharply kicked high above his head. Finn thinks Luke’s the coolest guy ever, and it serves to stroke Luke’s ego enough that he even shows them old tapes of him competing in martial arts at an international level. He laughs when his old Master Yoda totters across the screen at a full height of barely five feet. Rey giggles when she hears the tiny Korean man speaking in reverse sentences and esoteric wisdom.

She asks him if he’d ever open up his own martial arts school. She’s never seen him get so sharp in their entire time spent together; he glares at her, blue eyes turned to daggers and vehemently says, “ _No_.” Rey doesn’t ask again and soon forgets it.

Yes, it’s been a year now, and Rey’s life is more perfect than she ever could have imagined. She just got her driver’s permit, and she’s been begging Luke for a car (her birthday’s in only a month), a request which he’s been carefully dodging by changing the subject.

It’s mid-December, and she’s curled up on the couch one evening, reviewing her history homework for the evening. She excels in her math and science subjects but seemingly struggles with history and English. She’s massaging her temples, trying to process an excerpt on the fall of the Ottoman Empire when Luke bursts through the front door, letting in a blast of cool air.

His expression is practically manic, grinning ear to ear. He’s holding a folder in his right arm, with his left tucked behind his back. “Oh, do I have a surprise for you.”

“You seduced Ms. Jade into giving me at least a C in history,” quips Rey, returning her gaze to her homework.

Luke snorts at her sarcasm. “Sorry kid, you’re going to have to get there the old-fashioned way.”

“Shame,” says Rey as the couch dips under Luke’s weight. She decides to momentarily delay her headache and sets the textbook on the coffee table. When she directs her attention to Luke, she finds him holding out a bouquet of flowers for her, his childish grin still sloppy on his face.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re sweet on me, Luke.”

“Rey,” says Luke, now used to her dry humor and evidently preparing her for some big announcement. “They’ve been signed.”

She freezes, her nose hidden in the arrangement, mid-sniff. “No,” she says, her voice muffled and disbelieving. She carefully places the bouquet on the table with her textbook. “You’re lying.”

Luke opens the folder and produces the papers to her with a flourish. Rey snatches them from his hands and skims the papers, eyes narrowed. Her jaw drops open. “The adoption papers. They’ve gone through.” Finally.

“Happy adoption day, kid.”

Rey throws herself at Luke, and he pulls her into a hug. Rey quickly sits back, trying to bite back her grin. “I’ve never had a family before,” she says, looking over the papers in disbelief.

“Speaking of family…” says Luke. “We’ve been invited to spend Hanukkah with Han and Leia.”

Rey should be overjoyed. She should. She’s heard fairytales about the infamous smuggler Han Solo and the reformed anarchist, now Senator Leia Organa. She even wrote a term paper last Spring about Leia and had done plenty of research on the ingenuity of Han’s mechanics.

But when Luke tells her this, her blood runs cold.

“I thought you’d be a little more excited,” says Luke.

“I just didn’t think you believed in God, that’s all,” lies Rey. “You’re always going on and on about energy and ether and auras—”

“I still celebrate the holidays. It’s a good time to reconnect with family and—”

“They’re _not_ my family,” says Rey firmly. “ _You’re_ my family.”

“Well, legally speaking—”

“ _Fuck_ legality.”

“Pretty sure that was the point of the official papers, Rey.”

“You were my family the minute you threw that granola bar at me. A bunch of meaningless words only makes that recognizable in the eyes of the government. Leia and Han—I don’t even know them. But I know you, and you’re my family. Just because we got some documents notarized doesn’t automatically make them family too.”

“Maybe if you met them, you’d change your mind.”

Rey gnaws on her lip.

“Every time I talk on the phone with them, they go on and on about how excited they are to meet you,” says Luke. “And, as I’ve told you before, what’s mine is yours. So, if they’re my family… well, sorry, that means you’re stuck with them too.”

Rey pauses, working her jaw.

“Fine.”

***

Two weeks later, they’re on a flight traversing the United States.

Rey’s a bit taken back when a sleek black Cadillac is waiting for them at the airport. The driver is standing at attention, smartly dressed, door held open for them to enter the back. “Miss Skywalker,” he greets. “Mr. Skywalker.”

Rey unsuccessfully suppresses a smile at the sound of her new surname.

When she slides into the back seat, she’s further surprised by the sleek leather interior and a small bucket of chilled, glass water bottles. There’s even a partition between the back seat and the front. As soon as she hears the driver’s door shut, the car begins gliding neatly over the pavement.

Rey gives Luke an inquisitive glance, which he shrugs off with a mumble. She turns her attention to the scenery flying by, paying close attention as the environment shifts to brownstones and holiday decorations. Wreaths whiz past them, as well as unlit twinkle lights that wrap around the bare branches of the trees that neatly line the lane. As she stares, the houses steadily become larger and more extravagant, until soon they’re turning into a gated driveway. The driver slows to a stop, and Rey watches through the window as he enters a code into the keypad. The wrought iron gate opens, and they begin their trek down the gravel road.

A private residence, then. Rey looks down at her leggings, converse shoes, and tattered sweatshirt, wishing she had chosen an outfit more suitable for the occasion of meeting her brand-new extended family. When the house finally comes into view, she can’t help but gasp. Beautiful Doric columns support a sweeping wrap-around porch. The double doors are ornately carved and seem to loom above her as the driver clicks open her door. When the outside light floods her vision, she is nearly blinded by the white stone of the building combined with the white snow that matches in intensity.

“Uh…” she looks back to Luke, “You didn’t tell me they’re _loaded_.”

Again, he shrugs. “You knew she was a prominent figure.”

“I knew she had a _Wikipedia page_. Not that she—”

Rey’s interrupted by the doors banging open, and a woman just over five foot come bustling out, arms outstretched. “You must be Rey!” she gushes. Rey stands and stiffly allows herself to be wrapped in Leia’s arms. “I’ve heard so much about you. And this is your Uncle—”

“Han. Just Han.” A dashingly handsome man at least a foot taller than his wife extends his hand for Rey to shake. He gives her a lopsided grin and ruffles her hair. “It’s nice to meet you, kid.”

Apparently, her nickname stays in the family.

Leia shows her to her room, while Luke and Han exchange overly polite greetings. Rey can’t help but frown when she seems them stiffly shake hands; it isn’t anywhere close to the relationship Luke had implied the two cultivated over the past few decades. But before she can dissect the stilted scene any further, she’s corralled up the sweeping marble staircase by an impatient Leia.

Rey’s room is settled at the back of the estate, overlooking the back gardens and a covered pool tucked away onto the back deck. Rey stares at the window as someone hoists her luggage onto her bed and avoids Leia’s incessant gaze. At last, once the glorified bellhop clicks the door closed behind them, Rey turns to hesitantly smile at Leia. She’s beginning to become a bit uncomfortable under this woman’s stare.

“Thank you for inviting us.”

“Rey, come sit,” says Leia, crossing the room and perching herself on the end of the pristine comforter. She pats an open space next to her, and Rey finds herself joining the woman on the bed. “I just wanted to… to thank you, I suppose for everything you’ve done for my brother.”

Rey snorts, “Please, he’s the one who literally found me _starving_ on the streets.”

“Yes, but you did as much to save him as he did for you.”

Rey shoots her an inquisitive look.

“Luke was… not in a good place last year. After everything happened with Ben—” Rey perks up at that. Luke has never told her exactly what had gone down to force him out of D.C., always avoiding the topic or closing it for discussion, but Leia evidently has the dirt. “––he just… he shut everyone out. I knew he had gone out west, but I didn’t know where he was until six months ago. When he called me from Santa Rosa, he couldn’t stop talking about you. It was the first time I’d heard him happy in a long time.”

Rey clears her throat, “About Ben….” This is the first time she’s heard his name. The first time she’s ever been reminded of the fact that Luke was practically shunned from D.C. because of some moral ambiguities. She vaguely remembers him mentioning it that first night in the diner. But all of her concerns surrounding it had dissipated the moment he locked his pinky in hers to ensure her safety.

Leia waves a hand in the space between them, “Oh, not to worry, he won’t be joining us for the holidays. I don’t think he and Luke could stand to be in the same room as each other.” She shoots Rey a conspiratorial grin as if Rey is in on some sort of grand, ironic gossip strand. But the secretive exchange of glances is gone in a moment, and Leia suddenly appears lost in distressed thought. There’s the briefest glimpse, a shedding of a mask, when Leia stares off into the distance, far, far away from the present moment.

But with a jolt, Leia comes to, stands, and smooths out her trousers. She makes some vague excuse about returning to check on Luke. As she’s halfway at the door, she turns with a wink and tells her, “You might also want to check up on Han. A little birdy told me he has an early holiday surprise for you.”

***

Han is disarmingly charming. When Rey finds him in the garage, he shoots her a rakish grin from over his workstation and flicks his head to encourage her to come closer. “Got something you might be interested in,” he says.

Rey creeps over, craning her neck to see what he’s been working on, and with a _whoosh_ she’s suddenly by her side when she sees the project he’s working on.

“I had no idea you built droids!” she gushes, her eyes practically turning into hearts at the sight of the small model before them. Once constructed, she can tell it will form a solid mass of a sphere; the two halves that wobble on the table act as the chief command board. From the look of the orange and white colors on the outer casing, she predicts it to be a BB model, and her hypothesis is confirmed when she sees the operating system he’s installed. Her jaw drops, however, when she sees the elaborate twisting of wire in between the nucleus and the membrane and she realizes—

“You’re upgrading it from model 7.”

“You got that right,” winks Han. “I’ve been working on BB8 here with one of my PhD students, Poe Dameron. You may have heard of him—”

“Poe Dameron, the race car driver?”

“The one and only.”

“Dameron’s going for his fucking _doctorate_?”

Han throws his head back and laughs. “Luke told me you had a mouth on you and _damn_ he wasn’t kidding. Yeah, Poe wants to build his own engines.”

“What kind of program is it?”

“Ah. I thought you might be interested. You and I will get along very well, kid.”

***

And boy, do they ever. Luke may be the father she never had, but Han is the fun Uncle she never got to fuck around with. On the 25thday of Kislev—the first day of Hanukkah, Luke explained in hush tones when Rey responded to Leia like she’d just spoken Russian—they began by lighting the menorah. Leia taught her how to make Latkes, and Rey reveled in the oily, sugary deliciousness as they sat in front of the crackling fire. All four of them were too immersed in their gluttony that no one said a word until their bellies were full.

Rey had done a quick google search the night before, which had informed her that on the first day of Hanukkah, she was to receive a gift. She sits in front of the fire, staring expectantly at Han and Leia and Luke, but Leia ignores her and makes a dramatic show of yawning and “retiring to her quarters for the evening.” Luke follows only minutes later, leaving Han and Rey alone in the living room. Rey leans forward, ready to pick Han’s brain on his misadventures from years past, but when her questions are answered with a snore, she slumps and figures tomorrow she may get something from them.

She’s never had a Christmas gift before. Or Hanukkah gift. Or—holiday gift? Rey’s not sure of the terminology, but she’s always envied the kids that would return to school in the new year, decked out in that year’s most recent fashions. Last year, it had been a week after Christmas when she’d met Luke, and that was honestly gift enough.

So the next morning, she’s psyched when Han tells her he has something for her. She dresses in a hurry, rushes down to the garage to meet him. Her skin is _vibrating_ with anticipation. She’s heard all about Han’s infamous car collection—he apparently has a 1970 Datsun 240Z hidden somewhere on the estate. At least, so is the case according to a deeply hidden subreddit.

But when she bounds into the garage, she can’t help but deflate a little when she sees a dilapidated Volkswagon that seems to have rolled straight out of the 60s.

“Rey,” Han smirks, “meet the Millennium Falcon.”

 _Ah_. “I’ve heard so much,” stammers Rey, but when Luke had told her the stories about the Falcon, she always imaged some sleek, sexy car that towed the inseparable three around the country as they fought against corruption and promoted freedom.

“This baby,” Han twirls his keys, “has been through a lot. Let me show you the repairs…”

Rey’s disappointment is soon forgotten as she loses herself in the web of gears and converters and gadgets that Han’s installed to keep this thing running for so long.

***

The next day she _does_ meet the 1970 Datsun 240Z.

“What’s this one called?” Rey asks when she’s finally come down from her shrieking. The sleek silver car practically _wink s_ at her from the sun that filters through the windows and caresses the beautiful, buffered exterior. But the outside beauty is no match for the brains underneath. She knows that engine roars with horsepower, and she trips herself in her excitement to dive into the passenger seat.

As Han cranks the engine, he says, “No name.” He puts his hand on the shoulder of Rey’s seat, craning his head over his shoulder as he backs out. “Nothing compares to my Falcon.”

On the third day, Rey rides in a 1962 Ferrari 250 GTE. The fourth, a 1969 Dodge Charger. Luke laughs when on the fifth day Rey practically has an aneurysm at the sight of a 1964 Aston Martin DB5.

And on the sixth day, when Han throws her the keys to his 1969 Maserati Ghibli 4.7, Rey is reminded of her first-ever orgasm, when her legs shook underneath her threadbare blanket in the communal living space in her fifth ever foster home. The intense ecstasy of speeding through the Maryland countryside, feeling the cool wood of the steering wheel beneath her hands… masturbation, she decides, is child’s play compared to this kind of thrill.

On the seventh day, Han lets her under the hood of the Maserati, and she’s a kid in a sandbox as he lets her remove and re-install various components of the engine.

“She’ll make a great mechanic,” says Han to Luke over dinner that night.

Luke grumbles that she better get her degree first.

The three adults drink too much wine that night, leaving Rey to wander the expansive mansion. She tiptoes through the cavernous hallways, exploring rooms filled to the brim with leather books, and picking at the chipped paint in Leia’s office. She eventually bores herself and is about to retire to bed, when she notices a door on the third floor that she’s yet to open.

 _Locked_.

And Rey… well, Rey can’t resist a locked door.

She runs to her room, snatches up some bobby pins and returns to the mystery. She quickly picks the lock—thankful, for once, for her rough childhood—and the door swings open.

Boxes upon boxes upon boxes loom before her, and Rey’s heart skips a bit. She’s always been a curious one, scavenging whatever she can whenever she can so that she can either a) feed herself or b) get to work on some grand project. As if driven by habit, she delves into the nearest box, discovering it to be chock-full of medals and trophies and ribbons.

She snatches a first-place medal and inspects the inscription on the gold medallion:

_Ben Solo_

_First Place_

_External Open Hand Forms_

_World Open Martial Arts Championship_

Leia’s voice echoes in her head: “ _After everything that happened with Ben…_ ”

Oh. _Oh._ Rey’s eyebrows pinch. She connects the dots rather quickly, but it still leaves her confused. Ben Solo is obviously Han and Leia’s kid—why else would they have boxes of his memorabilia? But, as Rey does a quick scan of the contents in other boxes, she doesn’t find a single photograph.

Odd.

She’s just working her way through a box labeled _home videos_ , which is overflowing with old tapes when she hears a tell-tale creak of the hardwood floor. Someone is making their way up the stairs, and Rey panics. The room has obviously been locked for a reason, and not one person over the entirety of the holiday has yet to mention this prodigal son, except for Leia’s fumble on the first day.

She shoves a random tape under her shirt and vacates the room. She’s lucky she’s nimble and quiet, moving on the tips of her toes before latching the door behind her.

“Luke!” she whisper-yells in surprise at the sight of Luke’s somewhat haggard form at the top of the steps.

He squints at her, “Rey? What’re you doing up? It’s—” he checks the grandfather clock in the hallway. “It’s two in the morning, Jesus.”

“I was just so excited for Santa that I couldn’t sleep.”

Luke rolls his eyes at her jab and gestures broadly to her room. “Get to bed.”

Rey scurries off, the tape safely concealed by shadows and shirt.

***

Rey is slow to make her appearance the next morning. Normally, she’s up shortly after the sun, dressed and ready for her next adventure with Han. But today, she creeps down the hallway to an old, unused entertainment room, the tape hidden still under the folds of her clothes. She can vaguely hear Luke explaining to Han and Leia over breakfast that she had a late night (the house is echo-y and sound reverberates if not blocked by doors) and Rey smiles to herself. What she had perceived to be an unlucky run-in with Luke is actually serving in her favor.

The entertainment room is fucking _decked_ _out_. It has every console that’s been in vogue for the last two decades. Rey smiles fondly at the Nintendo 64, recalling memories of when she was seven, playing with her foster family in one of the few good homes she did have. She runs her eyes over several stations she’d love to eventually try out, but she grins triumphantly when she sees an old, dusty VHS player hidden in the corner of the entertainment unit.

Rey takes a moment to connect it to the monitor. Unsurprisingly, the thing whirs to life, still in perfect condition. She would expect nothing less from Han to take care of his toys.

She pops in the tape, then moves back in crab walk until her back hits the couch. She cranes her neck and watches as the grainy black and white screen cuts into focus.

Rey honestly could not have prepared herself for what comes.

*******

According to the date marked on the tape, the video was taken five years prior. Ben looks to be in his late teens, although she can’t make out any distinct features from the terrible, grainy video quality. Whoever is operating the camera starts to zoom in on his figure that’s standing a fair distance away, and Rey takes in his white martial arts uniform, paired with a blue belt. She can make out dark hair, trimmed just to the nape of his neck, and she’s just making out his strong nose that reminds her so much of Han when the tape skips.

Suddenly she’s watching Ben in the center of a taped-off square in a hotel ballroom of sorts. He’s staring straight ahead, hands balled into fists and held out in front of him. She watches as the camera moves to the sidelines, capturing a slightly younger Han and Luke looking on intently. Leia’s voice comes out from behind the camera: “And here,” she narrates in a deep whisper, “the lion and the weasel watch their offspring intently. It is fairly natural in these types of habitats, as the older males anticipate their demonstrated success in raising—”

“Wait, am I the lion or the weasel?” interrupts Han, shooting Leia an expression that is equal parts annoyed and charmed.

“The lion, darling, of course.”

Han nods, seemingly accepting her answer. The camera spins, revealing Leia’s face as she holds in out in front of her, capturing her giving a grimace and shake of the head as if to say: _Definitely the weasel_.

“Hey!” comes Han’s voice from off-camera.

The screen spins again, refocusing on Ben’s still form.

Luke’s annoyed voice cuts through the speakers: “As much as I love hearing your wilderness narration routine, Leia, and your strange, negging way of flirting, Han, this is an important event for my student, thank you very much.”

Rey is just able to make out Han’s classic grumble: “It’s _my_ kid.”

Their voices quickly cut out when Ben snaps into motion. Rey watches with wide eyes as his body unfolds, limbs cutting through the air with unparalleled precision. He’s practically a dancer, she notes, in the way he drags his foot across the carpet and launches into a perfectly executed spin-kick, leg extended and toes pointed. He sticks his landing, tree trunks of legs bending to catch himself. The top of his gi audibly snaps as he punches through thin air at an invisible target.

And when he extends his leg into a _blink-and-you-miss-it_ front kick, Rey notices his height. Based on his proportions compared to the crowd, he probably has a good two to three inches on his dad. His size alone exudes power. She’s entranced by his perfected motions, the way he sweeps his leg into an arch and follows it with a slicing uppercut.

Ben ends his routine with a yell, and Rey launches herself at the remote to mute the volume completely, just as applause erupts from the audience. Ben’s posture relaxes, only slightly so, and then he’s standing at attention once more, bowing to the judges. Luke walks into the camera’s frame from off-screen, making his way to the center of the ring with Ben. When Luke reaches his nephew, he grasps Ben’s hand in his own and then holds their joined hands high above their heads.

Luke is grinning ear to ear. A damn proud coach.

Ben wears a purely stoic expression. His gaze is trained on something off-camera, and Rey pauses it when Leia jolts the camera momentarily in that direction. The screen is blurry, but she can just make out a figure behind the judges, joining the crowd in their applause. He, like Ben, is unsmiling.

And it’s probably just the lighting—but Rey swears the stranger’s eyes glow red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I have about ~15k words written so far, so you can expect frequent updates.
> 
> No Ben quite yet, but trust me he's coming, and it's worth the wait :)
> 
> Also--please let me know if there are any glaring spelling or grammatical errors. This is an un-beta'd work, so I skimmed through and caught what I could.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey tries to convince Luke to train her.
> 
> A mysterious stranger introduces himself.

Rey barely has time to process the home video of Leia and Han’s mysterious son. The minute she’s downstairs, Han’s hounding her and playfully pushing her toward the garage. Rey doesn’t protest—she’s looking forward to whatever beast of a car he has waiting for her today. Each day, the surprise has been getting better and better––

“Oh.”

Look, Rey loves Volkswagons. She appreciates a German design and loves the look of them—especially the 1970s Volkswagon Scirocco parked in front of her—but she was hoping for something a little more like the _Maserati_. Especially since it was the final day she and Luke would be in town.

“What are you _oh_ -ing about? I picked this baby up last week. She’s got more problems than old Falcon over there.”

Rey jumps when she throws the keys at her, barely snagging them in her hands before they nail her in the face. “So we’re not even gonna drive it?”

“Well, _I’m_ not,” says Han. “I’m not even gonna fix it.”

“I don’t—”

“She’s _yours_ , Rey.”

Rey’s processing speed is a bit slow this morning, considering her Ben Solo discovery and lack of sleep the night before. She shakes her head, “You mean…”

“She’s yours to fix, she’s yours to drive, she’s yours to keep forever. If you want her, that is.”

Rey smiles so hard she thinks her face will break in two.

***

Over the next three months, Rey slaves over the VW. She spends most of her days after school with Finn, exploring junkyards and messing around in Luke’s garage. Finn prefers working on his robotics while Rey bends under the hood of the car, rearranging the configuration and figuring out which parts she needs to find. It’s like Han gifted her a puzzle of the best kind.

One day, rummaging through the back section of a Goodwill for random, antiquated household devices, Rey stumbles across an old VHS player. She buys it for 15 bucks, hides it in her room, and only has to repair a few wires before she’s able to hook it up to her laptop and watch the video of Ben on loop. (She’d stolen the tape from the Organa-Solo estate, burying it in her luggage after the holidays had finished.)

She googles “Ben Solo” on a library computer, but only grainy images of him at the martial arts tournaments appear. His name is buried in Leia’s Wikipedia article, and she finds it hidden in some society pages, always attached to his mother or father, but that’s the only proof of his existence she can come up with.

So, Rey settles for the VHS tape. She becomes obsessed with his swift, graceful movements, but she knows not to bring it up with Luke. Even before she knew about Ben’s existence, Luke had been jumpy about his recent past and refused to indulge in his martial arts practice anymore. He’s taken to practicing yoga in the early mornings, subjecting Rey to his sweat and stink before school started. She occasionally joins him on the weekends, enjoying practicing the various forms and stretching out her muscles from the hikes they’ve indulged in. On weekdays, however, she mirrors Ben’s forms until her own movements are almost as precise as his. Her room is too cramped to perform his more advanced jumping, flying, and spinning moves.

The minute she finally has the Volkswagon running—she’s nicknamed it Kira—she tells Luke she’s off to see Finn, but instead drives to a distant trail that she and Luke like to frequent. She sprints the short two miles to the top of the peak, and the minute she broaches the hill, she catapults herself into the movements she’s memorized from Ben’s tape. She’s kicking, punching, and faux blocking on a rocky cliff, overlooking the Pacific Ocean as it crashes beneath her.

As she executes her final move with a yell, the waves roar back.

Rey has never felt more powerful.

***

Her sophomore year passes in a blur. Rey aces her math and science subjects—barely scrapes by in anything else—and is celebrating her passable grades with Luke one night in their favorite dingy Chinese restaurant when she finally broaches the subject.

“So I found this tape.”

Luke raises his eyebrows in fake interest, “Anything _saucy_?”

“Well, kind of.”

Luke looks uncomfortable. “Look, Rey, I didn’t realize you hadn’t had the birds and the bees—”

“God, _Luke_ , no nothing like that,” she flicks some rice at him. “You have the most disgusting mind sometimes. It’s not… I found it at Han and Leia’s.”

Luke becomes even more disgusted.

Rey scoffs, “It’s not a fucking sex tape okay? It’s… it’s a video of Ben?”

The color drains from Luke’s face.

“At a martial arts tournament?”

Luke says nothing.

“And apparently you’re his coach? _And_ his Uncle?”

Luke runs his hand over his face, dragging the aging loose skin so that his eyes slightly bulge. “Look, Rey—”

Rey’s voice is cold: “Why didn’t anyone think it pertinent to mention to me that I have a _fucking_ cousin?”

“He’s not—he’s not your cousin.”

“ _Bullshit_. I distinctly remember you saying that your family is my family too.”

“ _No_ ,” says Luke sharply, attracting the attention of surrounding tables. “No. As of two years ago, Ben Solo is not my nephew.”

“I don’t—”

“I’m done having this conversation,” says Luke, throwing a couple of twenties onto the table and rising. He exits the building briskly, and Rey follows at a loss. She’d driven to the restaurant that evening, so Luke waits by the passenger door, jaw locked and eyes averted.

“I’m not unlocking this car until you’re honest with me,” Rey says, stubborn as ever.

“Unlock the car, Rey.”

“No. I thought we had no secrets.”

“Just the one then.”

“ _Fuck_ that,” Rey slaps her hand on the hood of the car, forcing Luke to jump at her outburst. She’s been privy to the occasional angry yelling, but something about her intensity and fiery gaze forces Luke to sigh and raise his hands in a truce.

“Alright, alright. Let’s just get home and then—”

“No. You tell me everything. Right now.” Rey circles the car to the trunk, hopping on and looking at Luke expectantly. He, to his credit, recognizes a lost battle when it rears his ugly head, and he acquiesces by taking a seat next to her.

“Ben was… Ben was an angry kid. Not angry like you. You have reason to be angry. The world screwed you over until you were, what, fourteen? Ben… everything was given to him in life. He never had to work for anything. Leia spoiled him in all the wrong ways. She was a bit of a workaholic in those years, constantly trying to get new legislation passed while Han… while Han jetted off to Monte Carlo for car races with his PhD students. Ben was a bit jealous of them. But… he got anything he ever asked for. Toys, clothes, games, you name it. And Ben, being the smart, intelligent kid he was, grew resentful. Moody. I think the kids called it ‘emo’ back in his day.

“Anyway, Han and Leia rightfully grew worried. They started spending more time with him, encouraging his interests. He was quite the calligrapher, actually. But the damage was done. He had a rage inside of him that he was shit at controlling. Privy to frequent outbursts. _Violent_ outbursts. We knew we had to channel it somehow, and that’s where we introduced him to martial arts.

“The kid took to it right away. I’ve never seen someone with such raw talent. Ben craved the discipline, loved the learning, and chased the prizes. I taught him just as Master Yoda did me. Or so I thought. The style of martial arts I taught him was more about your inner battles. It was about fighting through your darkest places. Or, when necessary, it was about self-defense.

“Then came Snoke. He was a world-renowned champion. An older guy, out of his prime, looking for his next conduit to take over his legacy. Ben was his prime subject. They were equal in size, tenacity… grit. But Snoke… he was a bad egg, Rey. He’d been to prison a few times. It was rumored he actually killed some guys with his bare hands while he was locked up. Somehow, he never got caught. Same gossip on the outside. I had no idea if it was true, but the guy screamed bad news.

“And Ben fell for it. I didn’t know it, but Snoke had been grooming him for years behind my back. And then it was too late… I—I—I—”

To Rey’s utter shock, Luke begins sobbing. His face is red, tears carving ugly streams down his cheeks, and his shoulders heave. She hesitates before wrapping him in her arms and helping him to his passenger seat. Her mind races as she sits in the driver’s side, staring blankly at the windshield.

Luke’s voice is hoarse and defeated: “I failed him.”

***

The next day, Rey wakes up early and whips together a breakfast for Luke. She brews him a fresh pot of tea, and by the time he’s awake—an hour past his usual wake up time—Rey’s waiting for him, table set and toast still warm.

Luke grumbles and shoots her a hesitant smile, and it’s only when he’s leaned back in his chair, satisfied with the meal she put together for him, that she executes her plan that she’s been thinking about for months.

Only it comes out more like word vomit:

“I want you to teach me.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want you to teach me. Like you taught Ben.”

“Nope,” Luke stands, waving his hands like it’ll rid of the situation, “No way.”

“But Luke—”

“No Rey. That’s final.”

***

Two days later, Rey’s out on the front lawn, practicing the only routine she knows. She’s executing a double roundhouse kick when she notices Luke has wandered out onto the front porch, evaluating her movements. She pauses and cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Make sure you align your knee with your hip,” he says, before returning indoors.

Rey counts it as a victory.

***

Another week goes by. Rey and Luke hike an unknown trail in Mendocino National Forest. When they reach the premier, Rey asks Luke to take a picture of her in tree pose. The view is too beautiful to not take advantage of it, and she’s been practicing her yoga. She stands at the edge of the point, balanced on one leg with her foot tucked into her upper thigh. She hears Luke snap a few pictures, and she’s about to release herself from the stance, when Luke stops her. “Wait. Stay there.”

“Why?”

“Let’s see how long you can hold it.”

“But why?”

“Don’t question the master, Rey.”

Rey bites back a smile.

***

In the mornings, Luke’s taken to watching Rey move through the only form she knows. He sits on the front porch, sipping on a cup of coffee and pretending to read his Eastern philosophy books. He never says a word. It isn’t until a week and a half later that he clears his throat after a poorly executed pivot block on Rey’s part.

“Again,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re over-rotating.”

Rey tracks back to a few moves prior and is about to pick the routine back up when Luke stops her.

“No. Start from the beginning. You over-rotate all of your moves. It’s an issue with hyperextension,” Luke sets down his coffee and stands, jogging down the porch to join her in the yard. “Bend your standing leg only slightly when you kick. This will let water into the joint and prevent you from injuring yourself. It will also give you a higher reach with your kicking leg.”

Rey begins again.

Luke starts giving her daily, piecemeal advice.

Monday’s advice: _Bring your back arm up when punching to protect your side_.

Tuesday: _Bring your_ Drishti— _that’s your “gaze”—to where you plan to execute your moves. Like an invisible attacker is in front of you. This will help with your precision and intention._

Wednesday: _Engage your core, Rey, Jesus. We’ve been over this in our yoga sessions. Tilt your pelvic floor to align your hips with the bottom of your ribs—yes, like that._

Thursday: _Loosen up a bit. Like you’re moving through water. It’s a reciprocal engagement with the elements—not a contest_.

Friday: _Your breath is all wrong. Inhale to gain energy, exhale upon release of the energy_.

By Saturday, she knows her teacher is here to stay.

***

“What the hell is this?” Rey grunts under the sudden heavy load of books dropped into her lap. She’s sitting on the couch watching old reruns of _The X-Files_ with Finn when Luke decides to ambush her with more reading material, if you can fucking believe it. Over the past six months, he’s inundated her with every kind of Eastern philosophy one can think of—everything from Confucius to Ghandi, Buddha to Rumi. To Luke’s credit, her English and History grades have improved exponentially, but she’ll be damned if she has to make her way through another 300 pages of moral ambiguities and nuances.

“That, kid, is Master Yoda’s unpublished texts.”

Both Finn and Rey immediately sit at attention, staring at the book like it’s a Holy Grail. They’ve heard the stories of Master Yoda, seen the tapes of his smushed face laughing at Luke’s bumbling sparring technique. In their eyes, he’s a total––

“ _Legend_ ,” breathes Finn.

The texts are bound by hand, based on the aged leather and frayed strings holding them together. Rey hands Finn the top text to inspect and busies herself with the one underneath it. The spine is loose from years of use. Tucked into the upper right-hand corner in neat cursive, she can make out the words: _Bound by Ben Solo; Property of Ben Solo_.

Rey can barely contain her excitement.

She stays up all night soaking in the words. It’s the fastest she’s ever moved through one of Luke’s “gifts” which now occupy the better half of her bookshelf. Occasionally, in the margins, Ben makes notes on different points, usually contesting their historical accuracy. He underlines several passages relating to power. But the majority of excerpts that he highlights or stars are relating to control—control of one’s thoughts, actions, and perspective on the world.

Rey spends most of the night imagining Ben, the faceless giant, pouring over these books just as she is. She wonders what drove him to bind these books, what wisdom he found most compelling.

She only wishes he were here, and she’s never even met him.

***

Because of Luke’s preoccupation with Rey learning these texts, she gets nearly perfect scores on her SATs. Her report card is a streak of As. Teachers admire her tenacity, especially Ms. Jade who commends Luke in parent-teacher conferences for his unorthodox approach of home education.

Han and Leia visit them for the holidays, dragging their family friend Chewie with them—a six-foot-eight bear of a man who rarely speaks. When he does, he practically yells; Han explains that this is due to hearing loss at a young age.

Hanukkah passes in a blur, as does the next year. Rey’s too busy to be bored. Luke has upped her training to include strength and endurance. He subjects her to trail runs, weightlifting, and increased difficulty during yoga. In her free time, she tinkers in the garage or leads mechanics meetings with Finn. School time is spent working on her college applications and trying to reason for her poor English and History grades early in her high school career.

She uses that as her point of entry in her essay, explaining her familial circumstances. She goes on to describe how her extracurriculars with Luke—learning martial arts, yoga, and Eastern philosophy—significantly improved her comprehension skills. According to her guidance counselor, it’s a damn fine essay, so she sends off her applications to MIT, Berkeley, Stanford, and Georgia Tech—any University, really, with a stellar engineering program.

When March 14throlls around, she’s sitting at lunch with Finn, staring at the MIT application portal. Her jaw is clenched, muscles tensed. Anxiety through the roof. Finn also has his opened. He grabs her hand.

“Stop holding my hand, Finn,” snaps Rey. He seems to do it every time they’re in an anxious situation, and it drives Rey fucking crazy.

“Sorry, it’s just…” Finn gulps. “Only one of us, realistically, has a chance of getting in.”

And only one of them does get in. Rey practically faints when she sees _Congratulations!_ roll across her screen in big block letters.

She’s going to MIT.

***

Summer with Han and Leia is surprisingly relaxing. Luke’s been invited on some expedition to Antarctica to check out a new species of bacteria, so he sends Rey to live with her adopted Aunt and Uncle before college rolls around. Han is over the moon to host Rey and impressed by her improvement when assessing her skills under the hood of one of his cars.

Despite relaxing by the pool, Rey craves the physical exertion that Luke put her through. She misses the strain of her muscles and sweating so hard she thinks she may pass out. A few Google searches point her to a gym on the outskirts of the city, outfitted with punching bags and kickboxing classes and all the equipment she’ll need to train on her own.

 _First Order Gym_ is even better than she imagined. Most of the floor is cleared—plenty of room to practice any routines she may want to brush up on. There are punching bags lined up along one wall, with dud weapons hanging above them. Two boxing rings are raised by the giant windows along the Southern wall, where a tall, hulking guy trains with whom Rey assumes to be his coach. Other than that, the gym is empty.

Online, the website said the facilities were free to use for first-timers. The coach pauses in his sparring with the tall guy and assesses Rey silently. He gives her a curt nod, which she takes for permission.

Rey starts her workout with a few warmup stretches. She laps the room a few times and then decides to cycle through some old routines Luke taught her while the pair in the ring finish up. She’s just executing the final move when a booming voice interrupts her conversation.

The training pair appears to have finished up. Rey was so focused she didn’t even notice the tall guy watching her every move through the routine, his eyes tracing her exact movements and noting her tenacity.

“Sorry, what was that?” she asks, shaking her head to refocus herself in reality.

“I said, where did you learn that routine?” At the sound of his voice, an involuntary shiver runs down Rey’s spine. She crosses her arms and considers the man for a moment. His eyebrows are drawn down over his dark eyes in a deep-set glare. His nose is strangely familiar, equine and strong, pointing towards a pair of full lips where her eyes linger against her will. He’s pale, with a smattering of freckles across his body. Her gaze caresses his strong form, noting the way his sweaty black shirt sticks to his strong abdomen.

The tall man, to his credit, notices Rey’s blatant staring and offers her a cocky smirk—one that’s barely there, just a twitch of his lips. “Like what you see?”

Rey blushes. “Sorry I—I guess I’m still in workout mode.”

“I’m Kylo,” he says. As he walks towards her, she has to crane her neck to maintain eye contact. _Jesus_ , this guy really is _huge_. He extends his hand, and Rey takes it.

The sheer size of him dwarfs her in comparison.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Kira,” says Rey without a second thought. She’s unsure of what drives her to tell the tiny lie, stealing the identity of the car gifted to her by Han.

“Kira,” Kylo rolls her name around in his mouth, and Rey has to bite her lip to avoid moaning. “Where’d you learn that routine, Kira?”

Rey’s defenses flare: “None of your business.” She snatches her hand out of his, unaware that he was still holding her in his grasp. She turns away from him, walking over to the array of available weapons hanging on the wall. She snags a staff that’s propped up in the corner and resumes her position on the floor.

“No need to be sensitive,” says Kylo.

Rey huffs, “I’m being _sensitive_?”

“I merely asked a question.”

“Well, perhaps you should mind your own.”

“Touchy, too.”

“Are you in the habit of name-calling strangers?”

“Only strangers who interest me.”

“Oh, I _interest_ you, do I?”

“Very much.”

“And what about me is so _interesting_?” Rey snaps the question in barely contained sarcasm. Her staff hangs forgotten in her arm, while the other is perched on her hip.

“The way you move.”

“The _way I MOVE?!_ God, you’re a creep.”

“You’re misinterpreting me. Your movements, your technique—it’s familiar. I’ve seen it before, but I can’t seem to place it. Where did you train?”

“None of your _fucking_ business, mate.”

Kylo’s eyes light in amusement, much to Rey’s frustration. She rolls her eyes at him, “Can you please just leave me be so that I can practice?”

“Answer me this and I’ll leave you alone: have you been taught to spar? With a partner, I mean?”

Rey rolls her eyes for at least the fifth time during their conversation, scoffing, “Of course.”

“How many partners have you had?”

Rey narrows her eyes, offended at the implication, and is about to open her mouth to tell him off when he cuts her off––

“Your movements. They’re predictable. Well-practiced, but just that. You’re lacking… spontaneity. Improvisation. You’d do well to spar, seeing as your movements are lithe and quick and precise. But you lack tact.”

Rey blinks in offense at his unprovoked criticism.

“You need a teacher,” he says.

“I have a teacher, thank you very much.”

“Every student benefits from learning under several masters.” Kylo shifts and folds his arms in front of his chest, causing his muscles to bulge. “Let me spar with you. Ten minutes. I’m trained with a staff as well. We’ll just go through some simple movements. If, at the end of ten minutes, you still question me—then you’re free to go. Deal?”

Rey considers him for a moment. “On one condition,” she hears herself saying and _fuck_ is she really going through with this?

Kylo nods for her to continue.

“You let me use the gym, free of cost, for the rest of the summer.”

Kylo’s lip twitches again—the barely-there smile. “Deal.”

***

Kylo is good. _Too good_. He’s better than Luke, but that can be attributed to a number of factors: his muscles, his age, his energy that spurts and kicks out of him like a raging fire. Luckily, Rey is quick, just as Kylo surmised, and is able to block his offensive attacks with a number of defensive techniques lent to her by Luke.

When Kylo rushes her with an attack aimed at swiping down the center of her forehead, she instinctually retaliates. She grips the staff in both hands, parries his move, but Kylo doesn’t relent. He bares down on the weight he’s pressing in her staff with his own, bringing his height to full advantage. Their faces are only inches apart; Rey can feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. It’s distracting. Apparently for Kylo as well. She sees the moment his eyes lose focus and drop down to her lips. The instant they do, she launches her leg out in front of him, kicking him in the solar plexus and sending him careening away from her. Building on her momentum, she swipes her staff downwards, and— _fuck_.

Rey nails him in the face, slicing a line diagonally down his forehead and over his cheek.

Oh fuck.

 _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_.

Kylo’s face is gushing blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D
> 
> Let me know what you think!


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